


Hedonism

by thejamesoldier



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bucky Barnes Feels, Emotional, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, F/M, Porn with Feelings, Protective Bucky Barnes, Reader-Insert, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Self-Reflection, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 02:29:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17034804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejamesoldier/pseuds/thejamesoldier
Summary: the angsty-est fluff to ever smut so prepare ya damn selves





	Hedonism

**Author's Note:**

> I WAS FEELIN FRISKY AND SLAPPED THIS OUT. I’M STILL HYPERVENTILATING. ENJOY! xxx

**|| The Avengers Assembled ||**

**Yesterday** 18:06 

 _Iron Ass_   _has changed the group chat name to_ A Collection of 💩

 _Miss Sneak n’ Sass has changed the group chat name to_ Tony You’re The 💩

 _Iron Ass_   _has changed the group chat name to_ Natasha Binge Watched Toddlers & Tiaras 

 _Iron Ass_   _has changed the group chat name to_ I Take It Back, Please Don’t Kill Me

 _Iron Ass has changed the group chat name to_ I Expect You All to Attend My Funeral

**|| I Expect You All to Attend My Funeral ||**

**Today** 20:30

_Dildo Arm:_

                                                                                       I’m bowing out early guys

_Captain Bubble Butt:_

Everything alright Buck?

_Coco Puff:_

Lover boy’s soldier wants to march on home

🍆

_Dildo Arm:_

                                                                                                            Sam shut up

Steve i’m fine

Y/n’s been worrying me, I just wanna go home to her

_Miss Sneak n’ Sass:_

I’ll cover for you at debrief

_Dildo Arm:_

                                                                                                    Thanks Наталья 

__Captain Bubble Butt:_ _

_No problem text me when you get home_

_Coco Puff:_

Steve your Mother Hen is showing

 _Dildo Arm_ : 

                                                                                   I will Steve, Sam do shut up 

                                 Natalia don’t scare Tony too much when he asks where I am 

_Captain Bubble Butt:_

Nat what’d he do this time?

_Miss Sneak n’ Sass:_

Scroll up Rogers

_Captain Bubble Butt:_

😂😂

_Iron Ass:_

Guys I’m part of this group chat? I can read everything 🖕🏻

 _Miss Sneak n’ Sass has removed Iron Ass from_ I Expect You All to Attend My Funeral

 

* * *

 

Bucky gently taps a code into the electric doorlock with his flesh fingers, the buzzer ringing familiarly as he walks into the lobby of your respectable brownstone Brooklyn apartment complex. He sends Steve a quick ‘I’m home’ before stuffing his phone in his back pocket and taking the stairs instead of the elevator (Bucky can’t stand elevators, the four small walls never were kind to his PTSD triggers) up to your shared penthouse.  

He took the stairs five at a time, easy. Bucky wasn’t really sure why he felt the need to rush, I mean yes he can’t wait to see you every time he comes home, but lately you’ve been…off. As he’s a master at reading people, Bucky knows what’s bothering you doesn’t have anything to do with him. It seems internalized. Usually he doesn’t push for explanations because he doesn’t need to, you both are great at communicating in your own ways on your own time (this system was learned through a lot of trial and error of course), but its been edging on three weeks now. You haven’t kept something from him for that long since the early stages of your relationship.

And he’s worried about you. Bucky never realized how much light and energy you bring into his life until that spirit of yours is no longer shinning. It’s dimmed and he’s scrambling trying to restore it. You are of course a gorgeous girl, but its your big heart that really sealed Bucky’s soul to yours. He found sanctuary in your embrace, safety in your eyes, love in your touch, respect in your voice, support in your soul, and something that is so unique to you that he doesn’t even have a word for it. Your ‘aura’ for lack of better term, your way of moving, your  _essence_ calls to Bucky and soothes him. It’s the only thing that gives him reprieve from the overwhelming tidal wave of suffering from his past. When he’s drowning, if you can’t pull him to the surface, you anchor down with him and just float at the bottom of the world together till he’s ready to try and swim up.

You’ve become an irreplaceable necessity to his everyday life. And you, his other half, so lacking of the grace that makes you  _you_  scares him. The thought of losing you  _terrifies the actual shit out of him_. He wants to keep you for selfish reasons (he found something as precious as you and there’s no way in hell he’s letting you go, no matter what) but mostly for the  _un_ selfish reason of being in love with you and just wanting you to be happy.

When he unlocks your apartment door and walks in he finds the apartment quiet. This quiet seems off, like there’s invisible storm clouds choking the atmosphere and electrifying the air with the threat of imminent danger. Bucky reads this in the space and cautiously moves deeper into the foyer, dropping his keys in the bowl on the table by the door and shrugging his large shoulders uneasily under the tight grip of his tac suit (as he has come straight from his mission). 

Subconsciously he can’t wait to get out of his gear and take a long hot shower, preferably with you. His sweat has cooled and crusted in an itchy layer on the inside of the tight leather and his now-lose bun has fallen into its best imitation of a bird’s nest. Bucky forgoes bending down to untie his combat boots and instead strides through the halls, flicking on the lights as he goes since night is falling, and finds the bedroom door closed. He doesn’t hide his footsteps, makes them “loud” (or civilian) so you know he’s home. 

There’s been a time or twenty when he’s accidentally snuck up on you and almost given you a heart attack. 

He hesitates before the door. Bucky can tell that the lights are off in your room by the dark stripe underneath the door. For some reason he has the urge to knock. He hasn’t felt this uncomfortable in his own home since the first month you both were living in it. With a silent steadying breath he gently pushes open the door. 

Bucky spots you on their queen size bed, the comforter and sheets neatly made underneath you, curled in a fetal position with your back facing the doorway where Bucky stands mute. You’re drowning in his huge old sweater (the first clothing article Bucky  _bought_ and  _owned_  all by himself) and his sweatpants. Something about the way you lay there in the dark silence of your bedroom makes his eyebrows knit and the corners of his mouth pull down in concern. He knows you know he’s there. Bucky can tell you’re not asleep.

“Baby?” Bucky hushes gently, feeling if he speaks any louder you’ll shatter into stardust right there on the bed, and rise to decorate the sky with that unnamable grace of yours.

You don’t move at all, don’t even blink from your hollow gaze at the opposite wall, you only sigh quietly, 

“Hey Bucky.”

Bucky feels cold fingers drag down his spine, something is absolutely wrong. These past few weeks you haven’t shown your sorrow this obviously and Bucky is glad you’re finally going to let him in – let him  _help_  – but also extraordinarily heart broken at how small you look curled up in the middle of their bed. You remind him of himself suffering alone in the dark and his broken heart trembles in the yawning fear in his ribcage.

The only light spills in from the hallway like a river of gold. Bucky’s shadow stretches across the carpet of the room to rise and peak curiously over the edge of the bed at you. He surges forward and quickly follows the example of his shadow, moving steadily into the room and closing the door behind him. His enhanced eyes easily adjust to the dark and as he gets closer, sees over your shoulder, he notices that the soft fuzzy collar of his sweater is pulled up under your eyes, hiding the entire bottom half of your face with only your eyes and the tips of your ears peaking out. 

The Brooklyn cityscape twinkles serenely and so far away under the reign of the rising moon outside their bedroom windows.

Bucky forgets about how he smells of sweat, gunpowder, and strangers’ blood, and the icky way his skin feels, the ache in his muscles. Your fiance kneels onto the bed behind you and doesn’t hesitate to lay down and wrap you up. His knees tuck snuggly under your bent ones and his muscle-bloated flesh and metal arms snake around your middle to pull you tenderly back into the solid warmth of his chest. There’s no breathing room between you as he nuzzles his nose into the fan of your hair splayed out behind you, smelling your shampoo. He quiets then settles. 

You’re so  _still_. 

Bucky brings you ever closer into him, feeling that if he holds you tight enough he can hold all your shaking pieces together because you feel like you’re falling apart. Your hands stay curled in little fists against your sweater covered mouth instead of reaching back or down to touch Bucky. You blink slowly when you hear Bucky sigh deeply behind you. 

You feel the buckles of his tac suit pressing hard into your back, the metal of his guns and knives in their respective holsters along your hips and backs of your legs, not to mention he smells like a gory action movie. 

“You smell.” You say in a tone that’s flat and empty and slightly muffled from under the fabric of his sweater. You would have wrinkled your nose, maybe teased him if you didn’t feel so dead right now. Blinking was almost too much effort. 

Bucky forced himself not tense at the hollowness of your voice. It almost  _echoed_ it was so scraped clean of your personality. If he held you any tighter he’d crush your ribs so instead he allows his nose to needle through the freshly washed damp tresses of your hair to reach the smooth skin at the back of your neck. He couldn’t help but take another healthy whiff once the swooped point of his nose touched your skin. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph you smelled so clean and fresh and like  _home –_

“I just showered, your suit is poking into me, I can feel your weapons, and your metal arm is pinching my neck.” You say in that same empty voice, trying to peel Bucky’s flesh arm away your waist and lifting your neck off the plating of his metal arm supporting your neck waiting for him to pull it back. 

Bucky knows you’re upset and that he shouldn’t take you not wanting him near you personally, but it still hurts. He slowly removes himself from you anyway and it feels like peeling his own damn skin off his bones but he respects your space. It’s what he would have wanted if this were reversed…which it has been many  _many_ times. 

“I’ll go shower, then.” He offers in the hushed tones he adopted earlier and rises off the bed. Bucky looks back at your lonely huddled form when he reaches the adjoining master bathroom but doesn’t say anything. He flicks the light on and closes the door with a quiet click.

 

* * *

 

When he comes back out, steam billowing from the bathroom door, after his hour long shower you’re in the same place he left you. You’re still awake and looking  _worse_ than before. There is a knot in Bucky’s heart that’s been getting bigger and bigger these past few weeks but now its so heavy in his gut its pushing on his lungs. He can’t  _breathe_ properly without you. 

He takes his time sifting through his drawers for his softest pair of boxers. Bucky takes his towel off his hips and slips them on, not putting on any other clothing (he likes being practically naked after missions, the freedom to move how he wants and when he wants helps his mind leave survival mode). Bucky hesitates with his back to you trying to determine what would be best for you. 

You’ve made it clear, offically, that something is wrong. 

But you’ve also made it clear you want to be left alone. 

Bucky thinks of all the times he displayed the same behavior and analyzes what you did. You have this amazing instinct to know when to ignore Bucky’s requests to be alone and when to honor them. Bucky might be a master at reading people but this was something that had to be  _felt_. He had to feel this with his heart. He slowly turns around and really looks at you in the dark. 

You look utterly blank. A smooth empty expression on your face. 

Bucky releases the breath he wasn’t aware he was holding and lets his body decide for itself. His legs take him determinedly back to the bed and he resumes the spooning session from earlier. He hears you huff in an effort to be annoyed but you don’t fool him this time. Bucky just holds on and you both sit there at the bottom of the world in silence.  

You don’t know how long you both lay there quiet in the black room, but at some point something in your chest ticks and – Bucky’s cracked you open. 

Bucky feels you shift slightly in his arms. He lifts his head up from your neck to peek over your shoulder to see if he can gather any more clues, and his heart explodes in tantalizing agony, lining his ribcage with burning embers of red. Your sweater paw hands have come up to cover your face and your chest heaves delicately.

Bucky makes a hurt, desperate noise as you cry silently into your hands hiding your face from him.

Panic swells in his chest like a metal balloon that won’t yield in inch as he scrambles to comfort you. He lines his head with yours over your shoulder, and rests his cheek against yours, holding you just a little tighter. Your ribs snap up and down violently against his flesh arm as you sob soundlessly in his arms. Bucky doesn’t know what to do other than just keep holding you. He squishes his cheek a little harder down against your own and hopes he can hold you together. He almost wishes you were loud, but the silent sobs and hands covering your face is somehow inexplicably worse.

Bucky’s mass surrounds you so completely, so thoroughly. It was the safety of his embrace that unlocked the tidal wave of emotion from the vault you thought you had locked up tight. You honestly should have known better than to try to keep something from Bucky when he had keys to the whole fucking castle. 

Your tears are soaking through the sleeves of Bucky’s sweater that you’ve pulled up over your hands and its collar that rests just above the bridge of your nose. You hadn’t realized until Bucky cuddled you and didn’t let go, how much you needed to be held. How much you  _needed_ to be touched and cherished. You don’t know what specifically triggered you really being harsh about your self-image. It started a few weeks ago and the ice cold habit stuck to your heart and has been stealing your warmth ever since. You hadn’t realized it’d gotten this bad, this suffocating, until Bucky held you even though you said no. 

Subconsciously you gathered he’s been giving you space, taking note of your mood and respecting it. But you’re so fucking grateful he knows you so well to make the choice to ignore your efforts to push him –  _everyone –_ away in favor of making sure you’re not alone. Bucky wouldn’t put together that what you’re upset about is how much you actually hate yourself, your body, your face, your personality, everything, even though he fights that demon himself every day.  

With a sudden dangerous swoop in your stomach threatening another wave of self-hatred, feeling like your falling off a cliff even though your laying down and practically bolted to the bed by Bucky, you need something to drown out your own voice. 

You snap your hands away from your face and dig your fingers shakily into the chord of Bucky’s flesh forearm that’s an iron band against your churning stomach. 

“Can you do that Russian murmuring thing you sometimes do?” You’re voice comes out scratchy and sorrow-strained, almost unintelligible through your quivering wet lips to anybody who didn’t know you. 

Bucky doesn’t hesitate to lift his cheek off yours and place his lips against the shell of your ear, soft slightly chapped pillows part as he breathes in,

Остановись, солнышко

_Be still, my little sun_

 

Тебя так любят

_You are so loved_

 

Замолчите теперь лепесток, я здесь

_Hush now petal, I’m here_

 

Я обожаю тебя моя любовь

_I adore you, my love_

Ничто не ценилось больше, чем я лелею тебя

_Nothing has ever been cherished the way I cherish you_

 

Ты в безопасности

_You’re safe_

 

я защищу тебя

_I’ll protect you_

 

Я сражался с вашими демонами, дышал

 _I’ve battled all your demons away,_ breathe

His rustic old world, slightly Brooklyn accented tenor, transforms into a smooth lyrical tongue that sings of cold winters, beautiful ancient castles, and lost princesses. You have no clue what Bucky’s actually saying but the magic he’s hushing in your ear drowns out the sound of your demons and quiets your soul. Your sobs silence themselves in favor of trying to hear Bucky better, all your attention stolen out of yourself and onto the spell he’s reciting for you. 

Bucky physically feels you slowly relax, like how just before you fall asleep all your muscles let go, not releasing his grip on you even a tick as you sink down into the mattress, molding to his chest. He wants to wrench open his ribcage and tuck you into him, protect you from everything and everyone, keep you by his heart where it can guard yours forever. Your breathing has leveled out and he can finally  _finally_ see your face. 

The lack of proper light doesn’t hinder Bucky’s eyes at all as they take in the puffiness of your face, the slight gleam of smeared silver of your tears reflecting off the city light from the windows. Bucky keeps up the murmured endearments and promises and declarations of love in your ear, the panic in his chest still there but deflating. He’s doing something right, he’s doing good. 

“Bucky,” You whisper as his voice trails off into extraordinarily less tense silence. 

“Y/n,” He responds with equal profoundness knowing his spoken name held all your heart in it. 

You don’t say thank you only because you know Bucky would chide you for even daring to, so instead you sacrifice one hand to release from its hold on Bucky’s forearm, and use the freed one to draw designless patterns on the back of his wrist. Fingertips swirl around the prominent wrist bone and surrounding thick muscle, through a light dusting of hair. The touch grounds you like his voice did.

“I love you,” Comes your own magic spell in the dark, “So very much.” 

Bucky gives you a quick squeeze, “I love you too.” 

You turn and give his metal under arm a tender peck before pillowing your cheek back against it, the unyielding metal not bothering you now. Bucky’s head is back behind yours, nose in its proper spot at the back of your neck. He waits for you to tell him what’s wrong as your breaths sync up. 

Its another few minutes as you pluck up the courage to expose yourself even though you trust Bucky with literally everything. 

“I hate myself.” 

Your words are like daggers into Bucky’s heart. He nearly avoids whimpering knowing that  _particular_ demon intimately. The fact that you suffer from it breaks his ever shattering heart. 

You take a deep breath at his silence, trusting him to listen to all of it before commenting, “At least sometimes. It’s not as bad as how you have it, which is good because I’m not  _nearly_ as strong as you are and couldn’t fight it like you can, but it creeps up on me. I get busy and I can ignore it, but then when I’m still and alone the build up just overwhelms me.” 

Bucky swipes his lips in sympathetic desperation over the top knob of your spine that’s peeking out above his sweater collar, frantic to take away your pain as fast as possible. Listening to you talk about how the world gets to you like it does to everybody makes him  _furious_ with himself. It’s irrational to think he can protect you from everything, but god fucking dammit he can try. He knows you’re strong even if you deny it, he knows you can take the shit life chucks at you, but he absolutely cannot stand watching you crumble under it. Everyone has to crumble so they can rebuild and get tougher, but it’s still soul crushing to watch all the same.

He waits until you’re done, listens intently to your darkest insecurities, reoccurring and new ones, let’s you spill it all out in one steady pour into the endless well of his love. When you finally finish Bucky gives your words a moment of silence, barely stopping himself from reciting the last rites for your fears he’s gonna put to death so they won’t haunt you anymore. 

Instead of speaking right away, Bucky sits up and brings you with him. You’re a little confused but easily go with him, his soul tethered to yours pulls gently on the line between you urging you to follow. Bucky gently maneuvers your shoulders so you’re both kneeling up, facing each other on the bed and gingerly cups his hands to your cheeks. 

For the first time tonight he stares in your eyes. With a start he realizes the reason your gaze isn’t staying on his is because you can’t  _see_ him. It’s too dark for non-enhanced eyes. Even though you can’t see you  _sense_ Bucky’s gaze on you and tiny sparklets go off in your heart. His forehead presses to yours and you breathe each others’ air for a heart beat, before you lean in at the same time. 

His lips touching to yours are gentle and tender, the pillows of your lips sliding together like key groves clicking into the lock. He holds you like you’re a precious porcelain figurine, his flesh fingers  _shaking_ a little he’s being so careful, while his metal hand feels cool and sure on your other cheek. Normally you would tease him that you wouldn’t break, but right now you feel like you could. Like you already  _have_. 

The moment ends too soon, and when you go in for more kisses Bucky indulges you (because how could he possibly refuse you) but still pulls away. Before you can start crying again (God you’re such a baby when you’re sad and needy and vulnerable) you hear Bucky get off the bed and rustle about the room. 

“Bucky what…” You trail off when the sound of a match being struck fizzes in the air followed by the glow of a tiny flame. 

Bucky’s lighting the candles littered tastefully around your room. 

You get the urge to cry again. You force yourself not to but can’t stop your lip from quivering. 

When he’s finished he turns to you and the amount of sheer uninhibited love and affection and care and respect warming the usually hard steel blue of his eyes hits you like a bucket of water over your head. And when he smiles it almost stops your heart. Instead of stopping completely your heart happily skips a few beats and butterflies swarm like bats out of hell in your stomach. You just stare like two dummies in love for a moment before Bucky starts making his way back to you. 

The soft light of the room throws Bucky into a Renaissance painting. The flat places of him are fluffy creams and rose while the sharp edges created by his muscles are defined by soft shadow. His boxers ride low to reveal the art of his hips and the beauty of his V. He steals your breath away. 

You scoot to the edge of the bed when he stops and remains standing. You’re eye level with him as you kneel up. The room smiles in at you two and braces its walls against any outside forces lying in wait to hurt you. Bucky delicately takes a stray strand of your hair and works it behind your ear. With the first genuine smile you’ve had in weeks you bite your lip and sigh, shaking your head fondly, as you run your fingers through his still fairly wet locks. 

The oaf didn’t even brush his hair. 

“I’m not an oaf!” Bucky denies huffily, grabbing you by your hips in stubborn retaliation. 

“Oops did I say that out loud?” You tease with a giggle coloring your voice as you momentarily shift your gaze down to meet his pout before resuming your makeshift hair brushing session. 

Those big hands on your hips coax thick warmth to stir like hot molasses in your core. The texture of the air shifts and thickens too, like clouds of cinnamon and vanilla; spicy and sweet. You realize belatedly that that’s because of the candles. When Bucky’s hair seems brushed through as good as you can manage with your fingers you huff. You’re about to chastise him that it’ll be pretty tangled in the morning, but then Bucky hops up on the bed and slinks behind you. 

“Bucky –,”

Your breath catches as his metal hand wraps around your collarbone like an iron band, holding your back flush to his chest while his chin tucks over your shoulder. He shuffles you both to face a certain direction and before you can question his methods you spot your reflection. 

The full length body mirror that’s positioned directly across from you makes your pupils explode and that molasses in your core boil into scathing syrup. You feel it already leaking to collect and filter into your cunt. 

“ _Oh,”_ You hush, rendered completely breathless as Bucky catches eyes with you in the mirror. 

He looks like a predator as he tenderly bites the tendons connecting your neck and shoulder –  _a lion holding down his mate._ Your eyes roll up into the back of your head at the sensation of it and  _the image of it_ burned against the backs of your eyes. 

“Keep your eyes open, doll…look at how beautiful you are when you come undone,"Bucky murmurs into your skin as he drags his lips up your neck, snaring the lobe of your ear between his teeth, “I want you to see yourself as I see you.” 

You release a sigh that almost cuts down into a moan as you obey and open your eyes, forcing yourself to look at Bucky and you in the mirror. Bucky quickly rids you of your (his) sweater, kissing the back of your neck as a reward for being pliant, and helps you slip out of your (his) sweats and panties. The chill in the room plucks at your nipples and sends waves of goosebumps along your skin. Bucky removes his boxers hastily and presses back up against you. 

You watch your writhing naked forms, immediately spotting the lust and devotion in Bucky’s eyes as he runs his gaze over your body in the mirror. 

“So fucking beautiful,” He whispers as he tears his eyes away from the mirror and looks down the length of your body in front of him, running his hands all over you like he can’t help himself, can’t decide where he wants to caress. “And it’s all  _mine_.” 

You stare wearily at yourself in the mirror and can’t say you agree with him about the beautiful comment, but hearing him press the words into your skin like tiny prayers is building to be quite a convincing case. He drops sweet reverent kisses all along the horizon of your shoulders, the column of your neck, the cliff of either side of your jaw, anywhere he could reach, while his hands simply smooth over –  _worship –_ every inch of skin they can touch. 

Well every inch  _except_ your cunt. 

The contrast of texture between his metal and flesh hand drive you crazy as the wide calloused palm and plated metal catch at your skin and ravish your body. He runs his fingers along the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, tapping his fingers like he’s gently playing the piano the closer they get to the outer lips of your pussy. 

Not being able to stand the ghost touches anymore, you try to take matters into your own hands (literally) as you drag your palms flat down Bucky’s arms currently wrapped around the front of you to allow his hands free reign. When your fingers grip his wrists, you try to tug them further down, down, down, down…

“Want my fingers baby?” 

“ _Yeah,”_ You softly keen to him as you catch gazes again in the mirror. 

“You gotta listen first then,” Bucky’s voice takes a hop off the octave ladder and lands a key lower. Your pussy positively drools. He hums as he moves his metal hand and presses it wide and low over your stomach, while his flesh fingers smooth down to cup your cunt so  _so_ tenderly. 

Immediately you try to rock your hips down to get some much desired friction, but when you go to lower your hips, Bucky’s metal hand tightens against your stomach and bolts you exactly where you are against him. His flesh hand hovers just out of reach, touching but  _not_ – 

“You gotta listen first babydoll,”

This time you whine long and high as you reach your arms back around Bucky’s neck, fingers gaining stubborn purchase in his hair. 

“Look at you,” He hushes as his mouth tickles your ear; obeying him you open your eyes you hadn’t realized had closed again to stare yourself down over the bridge of your nose, your chin tilted back against Bucky’s metal shoulder, “So vulnerable, so gorgeous,” 

Your breath gets practically punched out of your chest at his words and the scared way his lips caress the syllables. 

“I love your stretch marks here,” Bucky rumbles from so deep in his chest you feel his words vibrate against your back as his flesh hand moves away from its place barely cupping your cunt (he ignores your groan of frustration) and down to brush the tiger stripes on the outside of your hip, “And here,” He follows the stretch lines on your inner thighs. 

Your cheeks explode like bursting suns with embarrassment of your bodily flaws, but one look at the reverence on Bucky’s face and all your doubts zoom out the window. 

“I love your acne scars,” He continues, moving his flesh fingers to brush over the marks, and before you can squirm away or complain he holds you firmer and speeds up, “I love your curves here and your pudge there,” His hand makes generous loving sweeps over your body, overwhelming you with praise. 

You watch in the mirror how your body responds to him, responds to his voice, his touch, his  _energy_. You’re under his complete control and you’re fucking happy to be there. It’s like everywhere his hand goes your body is reborn in your eyes, and instead of seeing flaws and things about yourself that you hate you see a body, a beautiful unique body that is appreciated and cherished by the man behind you. 

“Feel how much I want you,” Bucky growls as he sensually rocks his hips into your naked cheeks, pressing the solid burning line of his cock against the crack of your ass.  

Oh God did you want him, you wanted him so bad. 

“That’s all for you darlin’, that’s  _because of you,”_

 _“_ Christ Bucky,” You moan delicately as you push your chest out to offer your tight nipples to Bucky’s flesh hand as it swipes lightly under the curve of each breast before cupping the smooth weight, then pinching the pebbled buds one at a time. His metal hand still has your lower stomach stapled back to him. 

Bucky begins slowly rocking himself against your ass, almost like a subconscious action, as he steadily brings his flesh hand down your stomach, around his metal hand, and down leaving a trail of  _fire_ –

“Oh please! Please  _please_ Bucky!” You cry as you realize his hand is heading past your lower stomach and curving soft and tender to cradle your cunt. He holds his calloused palm and dexterous fingers  _just out of reach_. 

You watch yourself squirm with anticipation in the mirror with Bucky a muscled dark mass threatening to engulf you –  _the smirk of rising Night behind a weary sunset falling to rest with grace_. Actually  _seeing_ his hands on you like you’re watching an entirely different couple is probably the hottest thing you ever experienced. Bucky’s eyes catch your attention though, two cobalt crystals sparkling in the hushed candlelight as he watches you in his arms with a hunger so devote, so lustful, you honestly could have cum if Bucky were touching your clit. He’s just as wrecked as you are. 

Bucky has his hips pumping into your naked cheeks faster and faster now. The temptation to push into you (because he can feel the dripping wetness of your slick as he keeps his cupped flesh hand centimeters from your cunt) is almost winning but this isn’t about Bucky, this is about you. He refocuses his mind and greedily sets his fingers to work. With a groan he finally presses his hand to properly hold you by your pussy. 

You sob at the contact and don’t wait a second to begin rocking madly against his merciful touch. Electric sparks zip and sing up from your core, spreading through your veins like champagne and fireworks. You’ve never felt so adored in your whole life. 

“That’s it baby, use my hand,” Bucky instructs through a heavy whisper, eyes loaded and charged as you don’t break gazes in the mirror. 

A most glorious whimper leaves your lips as you tilt your head to lean against Bucky’s, your temples pressed together as you watch each other fall apart. Without any warning Bucky slides two fingers smoothly up into you, moaning lewdly, mouth open, at how wet and warm and  _tight_ you are. You answer his moan with hot noises of your own, both of your hands gripping his metal forearm still against your stomach for leverage and an anchor as you continue to use and fuck yourself on his fingers. 

Bucky can see you’re almost there, face twisted up so beautifully as you gather pleasure from his hand and fingers as he strokes your g-spot and feels your velvet walls suck and snag on his thick long fingers. 

“Every time you have doubts about yourself remember what you look like right now, devastatin’ yourself on my fingers, the feel of my cock against your ass knowin’ you’re responsible for it, that its yours,”

“ _Bucky_ ,” You moan utterly – magnificently – overwhelmed. 

But Bucky doesn’t stop, in fact you’ve only spurred him on, “This is what I see in every on of your smiles, this stunning potential to be vulnerable. Do you know how beautiful you are stripped to your core and opened up like a bloomin’ flower?” 

You are rendered absolutely speechless. Your mouth only hangs open for more sounds of desire and disbelief and love to pour out of as, temples kissing, you both climb higher. 

“I want you to look at your face when you come and remember it. Remember the beauty of it, of seeing yourself be undone. It’s truly something stunnin’ and beside myself you’re the only other person I will ever allow to have the honor of seein’ it.” 

The coil in your core tightens in warning and before you can beg Bucky for just a little more of  _anything_ , he sees it on your face and with a rush of hot air from his lungs, gives your pussy a good, final, firm slap. Then everything bursts into ecstasy. 

And in that moment, in the mirror, you saw him defeat the demons in your eyes.

“ _I love you.”_

In that moment, in the mirror, Bucky witnesses with a heart pumped full of pride, that rare grace of yours that had been missing rise like the victorious dawn in the horizon of your eyes. 

“ _I love you too.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Hi? Was this okay? Or trash? I’m sorry if its not as detailed as my other smuts but I tried xxx


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